Chapter 5 Amber
AMBER
Ilie in bed, staring at the ceiling shadows that twist like smoke in the dim light filtering through my curtains. The clock on my nightstand ticks past four in the morning, each second dragging heavier than the last.
Sleep should come easy after the chaos of the night, but my mind won't shut off. Giovanni's face keeps surfacing, unbidden, his dark eyes piercing through the darkness of my room. That encounter in the alley replays on a loop, every detail sharper than it should be.
He'd grabbed me, his grip firm on my chin, pulling me close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.
Dangerous—that's the word that sticks. The way his voice had dropped low, laced with threat, promising consequences if I didn't back off.
My heart had pounded then, not just from fear, but from the raw intensity of him.
A man who could snap and destroy everything in his path.
Yet, there he was, moments later, offering help. Actual help. To find Rose.
Who pulls that kind of switch? Threaten to bury me one second, then throw me a lifeline the next?
It's like he's playing both sides of a game I didn't sign up for. Now, I'm left guessing which version of him will show up next.
I shift under the sheets, the cotton clinging to my skin from the light sweat that's broken out despite the cool night air.
My pulse still races when I think about his fingers on my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.
Rough calluses against my soft skin, a touch that demanded attention.
It sent a shiver down my spine, one that pooled low in my belly.
Danger, yes, but something more primal stirred too.
My body had tensed, muscles coiled tight, ready to fight or flee.
But beneath that, a traitorous warmth spread, imagining what those hands could do if they weren't holding me in check. If they explored instead of restrained.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I roll onto my side, punching the pillow to fluff it, but it does nothing to chase away the thoughts. Giovanni isn't some knight in shining armor; he's tangled in some mafia web. And yet, here I am, heart fluttering like a damn schoolgirl over a simple touch.
The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as dawn creeps closer.
I glance at the window: the sky outside is lightening to a bruised purple, the first hints of morning chasing away the night.
Dusk will roll around too soon, and I'll have to drag myself to the bar, smiling through shifts while exhaustion gnaws at me.
I need sleep. Real sleep.
But Giovanni haunts me, his presence lingering like a shadow I can't shake. I vividly remember his broad shoulders filling the alley's narrow space. I try but I can’t forget the scent of his cologne, something woody and sharp, mixing with the rain-dampened streets.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my brain to quiet, but it only sharpens the memories.
Fine. If I can't fight it, maybe I can burn it out.
My hand moves before I can overthink it, sliding down my belly under the thin tank top I threw on after my shower. The skin there is warm, sensitive, and I trace lazy circles around my navel, feeling the rise and fall of my breaths quicken.
It's just to relax, I tell myself. Just a way to unwind the knot in my chest. But even as the lie forms, I know it's bullshit. Giovanni's image solidifies behind my closed lids: those intense eyes locking onto mine, his thumb brushing my lower lip in my mind's eye, parting it slightly.
My fingers dip lower, past the elastic waistband of my panties, the fabric already damp against my thighs. I part my legs a fraction, the cool air kissing the exposed skin, and let my touch graze the soft folds between.
A soft gasp escapes me at the contact, electric and immediate.
He's there, in the fantasy, stepping closer until his body pins mine to the rough brick wall of the alley.
No words, just action: his mouth crashing down on mine, tongue demanding entry, tasting of bourbon and sin.
I kiss back in my imagination, hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.
My free hand joins the first, one palm pressing flat against my mound while fingers circle my clit, slow at first, building the ache.
The sensation mirrors what I picture: Giovanni's hand sliding up my thigh, bunching the hem of my dress higher and higher until cool air hits my bare skin.
He doesn't ask. He takes, fingers hooking into my panties and yanking them aside.
I arch into the touch in my bed, hips lifting off the mattress as I imagine him pressing against me, his hard cock straining through his pants, rubbing against my core.
The fantasy shifts, vivid and unrelenting.
He lifts me effortlessly, one hand under my ass, the other guiding my leg to hook around his waist. The wall scrapes my back through the thin fabric of my uniform, a bite of pain that only heightens the thrill.
Anyone could walk by—the distant hum of a car, footsteps echoing on the pavement—but that risk fuels it.
His free hand shoves my skirt up to my hips, exposing me completely, and then he's freeing himself, his thick cock springing out, veined and throbbing. No preamble, no gentleness.
He lines up and thrusts in, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
I moan softly into the pillow, biting the edge to muffle the sound as my fingers mimic the invasion. Two digits slide inside me, slick with my arousal, stretching the tight walls. I pump them in and out, matching the rhythm I envision.
Giovanni, pulling back only to slam forward again, his hips snapping against mine with punishing force. Each drive hits deep, grinding against that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
My thumb flicks over my clit, relentless, as I picture his jaw clench and eyes grow dark with lust while watching me unravel.
“Please,” I moan into the empty room. “Harder.”
He fucks me harder, the wall rattling with the force, my body jolting with every plunge.
His hand on my ass digs in, bruising, holding me open for him.
I can almost feel the stretch, the burn of him filling me completely, his balls slapping against my skin with wet, obscene sounds.
Sweat slicks our bodies, mixing with the alley's grit, and I cling to him, nails raking down his back under his jacket.
He growls low in my ear, words rough and possessive.
"Come for me. Right here, where everyone can hear you scream."
The words in my head push me closer, my breaths coming in pants now. I add a third finger, scissoring them inside, the fullness making me whimper. My clit throbs under my circling thumb, swollen and sensitive, every nerve alight.
In the fantasy, Giovanni's pace turns frantic, his cock swelling thicker inside me, veins pulsing against my inner walls. He drives deeper, relentless, claiming every inch until I'm shaking, on the edge.
I bite my lip hard, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood, as the orgasm builds like a storm.
My hips buck wildly against my hand, fingers plunging faster, curling to hit that perfect spot over and over.
Giovanni's imagined thrusts match, merciless, pounding into me until the world narrows to the friction, the heat, the overwhelming need.
He grinds against my clit with his pubic bone on the next slam, and that's it—I shatter.
The climax hits like a wave, crashing through me.
My pussy clenches around my fingers, pulsing in rhythmic spasms, and I cry out, the sound stifled against the pillow.
Waves of pleasure ripple out, toes curling, back arching as I ride it out, thumb pressing hard on my clit to draw every last shudder.
My juices slick my hand, warm and sticky, as I slow my movements, milking the aftershocks.
Exhaustion finally claims me then, heavy and inevitable.
My hands fall limp to my sides, body sinking into the mattress like lead.
Giovanni's face fades, the fantasy dissolving into the haze of satisfaction.
The room is quiet now, dawn's light strengthening, painting the walls in soft gold.
I drift off, sated and spent, the night's tensions unraveling at last.
And just like that, I fall asleep.